


Electric Souls

by cecilkirk



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Choking, M/M, Pain Kink, Slapping, Smut, brallon, in which brendon likes being tased, sorry mom sorry god, top!dal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-26
Updated: 2016-03-26
Packaged: 2018-05-29 03:32:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6357214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cecilkirk/pseuds/cecilkirk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You want me to use it on you?” Dallon asks incredulously.</p><p>Brendon licks his lips. “Please,” he whispers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Electric Souls

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by that one video where Brendon gets tased (and totally loves it).

 

“Oh my god,” Dallon laughs, pulling the rest of the wrapping paper off. “Is this--did you get me a taser?”

Spencer grins, shrugs. “Who knows.”

Dallon rolls his eyes at him, wondering why the fuck Spencer got it for him. Not that he’s ungrateful, but--why?

“Worried for my personal safety, are you?” Dallon asks lightly. “Don’t think my big, strong Brendon will protect me?”

He looks over at Brendon on the couch across the living room to gauge his reaction--he anticipates Brendon is two seconds from hurting himself laughing. But Brendon is silent, eyes glued to the box in Dallon’s hand, chewing on a fingernail.

“Brendon?”

At the sound of his name he blinks, looking up at Dallon with wide eyes. “What?” he asks around the finger in his mouth.

Dallon shakes his head, out of amusement rather than annoyance. What about the taser distracted him so much?

“Well, thanks, Spence,” Dallon laughs, flipping the box over in his hands. “I’m sure we’ll find a good use for it, right, Bren?”

Dallon looks over at Spencer, grinning at the hilarity of his own gift. When he shifts his gaze to Brendon, he holds up the box and gives it a terse shake, smiling. Brendon’s face turns red, and he won’t look Dallon in the eyes.

Dallon frowned at the box. What was it about the taser that Brendon reacted so strangely to?

After an hour with Spencer, Brendon said nothing. He couldn’t take his eyes off the box, even when Dallon set it on the floor and went to enjoy Spencer’s company in the kitchen. Brendon didn’t leave the couch.

An entire hour, and Brendon couldn’t look away from it.

What was so enthralling about it?

After Spencer leaves, Dallon is determined to find out.

“Bren,” Dallon says, holding out his hand. “C’mon. Upstairs.”

Brendon won’t look away from the box on the floor, and--has he not stopped chewing his nails yet?

Dallon claps his hands once, loud enough for Brendon to jump and look at Dallon. His eyes are wide and filled with something Dallon can’t identify.

“Come on, Brendon,” Dallon says, dragging the words through a low voice as he climbs onto Brendon’s lap. “Let’s do this upstairs,” he mutters into Brendon’s neck.

Brendon says nothing. After a few moments, Dallon pulls his head back to see that Brendon’s looking at the fucking box again.

“Brendon!” Dallon barks, grabbing a fistful of Brendon’s hair and pulling his head toward his own. “Look at me when I’m talking to you.”

A hollow, breathy whine escapes Brendon’s lips. He looks at Dallon for a few moments before his eyes flicker across the room, back at the box.

Dallon drops his hand from Brendon’s head.

“Brendon Urie!”

With one crack of skin on skin, he slaps Brendon. Instantly, he feels Brendon get hard against his ass. Brendon blinks, pausing to let the pain soak into his skin before turning back to look at Dallon.

“Don’t you dare look at that fucking box again,” Dallon growls.

Brendon blinks at him again, wide-eyed, mouth agape. He gingerly touches his reddening cheek before giving a curt nod over to the box.

Dallon brings his hand back, preparing to slap Brendon again. He can feel Brendon’s cock twitch in anticipation. “Brendon, I swear to god--”

“N-no,” he stammers. “I won’t look. Just…”

“What?” Dallon spits, lowering his hand to fall around Brendon’s throat. Brendon swallows in the attempt to tighten Dallon’s grip around it.

“Use it,” Brendon whines.

Dallon blinks, thumbing Brendon’s windpipe. “What?”

“Touch me with it,” Brendon says, the thought of it turning his words into a moan.

“You want me to use it on you?” Dallon asks incredulously.

Brendon licks his lips. “Please,” he whispers.

Dallon looks down at Brendon, arching his back into Dallon’s touch and writing beneath his hips.

“P-please.”

Dallon sucks on his lower lip as he mulls this over. “Only if I can do what I want to you.”

Redness spreads across Brendon’s cheeks at the thought of what that could possibly be.

“Yes,” he whines.

A smirk creeps up Dallon’s lips.

“Strip,” he commands as he extricates himself from Brendon, walking over to retrieve the box. Brendon watches him intently, so much so that he trips over his own feet stepping out of his pants. When he’s completely naked, Dallon opens the box. He catches Brendon touching himself at the sight.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Dallon says, pointing the taser at him like a weapon. At the sight, Brendon sloppily stifles a moan, loud and breathy and needy.

“First things first,” Dallon says, putting the taser under the couch. “I’m going to make you cry.”

Brendon swallows. Dallon smirks.

With one step forward, Dallon commands Brendon to sit on the couch, and Dallon straddles his hips.

“You like getting hurt, don’t you?” Dallon asks in a saccharine voice, trailing fingers over Brendon’s still-red cheek. “You like it when I hurt you, don’t you, Urie.”

Brendon nods, lips parting to better allow himself to suck in short, shallow breaths.

Dallon pulls his hand away and Brendon whines at the lack of contact.

“I can’t hear you,” Dallon intones in a sing-song voice.

“Y-yes,” Brendon chokes out, cock hard and promising under Dallon. “I like it when you hurt m-me.”

Dallon cups Brendon’s cheek, thumbing the inflamed skin gently. “I know.”

He pulls his hand back and slaps Brendon with everything he can, enough for Brendon to suck in a surprised breath. Dallon can feel Brendon grind against him, impatient and needy as ever.

“F-fuck,” Brendon gasps.

Dallon grabs Brendon’s hair, forcing Brendon to face him. “Did I say you could speak?”

Brendon shakes his head in negation, biting his lip to stifle a moan.

“That’s right,” Dallon growls, dropping his hand. In some kind of Pavlove-esque reflex, Brendon’s dick twitches again.

“I don’t think you should speak the rest of the evening,” Dallon says. “Not if you want me to tase you.”

Brendon blinks rapidly. He bites his lip harder, eyes widening.

“You have such a pretty throat,” he coos, bringing his hand up to Brendon’s neck. “Let’s see what colors I can make it turn.”

Dallon bends down and presses his mouth to the hot, electric skin of Brendon’s neck. He grinds against Brendon for good measure, scraping his thumb nail against his windpipe. Brendon grabs one of Dallon’s thighs for purchase, to keep himself from coming.

“No, no,” Dallon says against Brendon’s throat, pushing his hand away. “You don’t get to do anything.”

Dallon begins biting his skin, nipping and scraping and doing far more damage than he would ever need to. He tightens his grip around Brendon’s neck as well, not enough to impair breathing but enough to make Brendon beg for it by tipping his head back and arching his back into Dallon’s grip.

Dallon puts a palm on Brendon’s bare chest and shoves it back against the couch, using the hand not clamped around his throat to fall to Brendon’s hips and dig into the protruding bone. Brendon hisses at this, squirming impatiently.

It’d be enough to get him off, but not enough to make him cry.

Dallon would have to try harder.

He drops his hands and strikes Brendon again, catching him off-guard and winning Dallon a loud, pitchy cry.

Surprise, he thought to himself. That’s why he wanted to be tased: he didn’t know what it would feel like.

“You’re fucking weak, aren’t you, Urie?” he asks, tipping Brenon’s chin up with this thumb. “You’ll cry very easily if I keep slapping you around, won’t you?”

Brendon nods into Dallon’s fingers.

Dallon stands up and orders Brendon to do the same, hands behind his back.

Methodically at first, Dallon strikes Brendon across the face--both hands, varying degrees of severity. Quickly, thought, it becomes too much fun, and Dallon continues to slap Brendon even when tears begin to stream down his cheeks. Ostensibly, this would be a signal to stop, that Dallon had gone too far. But he knew he hadn’t; he could see it in Brendon’s eyes.

He only wanted more.

“Get on your fucking knees,” Dallon growls, and Brendon drops immediately. He doesn’t move his hands from where they rest above his ass and lets Dallon fuck his face, moaning around his cock as Dallon grips his hair, yanking Brendon’s mouth around himself. He watches Brendon’s fingers knot with each other in frustration and obedience. The sight of it makes Dallon come quickly, all neatly down Brendon’s throat. Brendon pulls back and sits on his heels, gasping, wiping away tears and come from his face before looking up at Dallon with wet, wide eyes.

“Go sit,” he barks, and Brendon does, sitting small and neatly on the couch, waiting. Dallon walks over, retrieves the taser from under the couch, and holds it. Brendon’s eyes immediately focus on it.

Dallon plunges two of his free fingers into Brendon’s mouth, and without a moment of hesitation Brendon begins fellating them, using his tongue and teeth and hollowing his cheeks expertly. His eyes fall closed and Dallon feels himself begin to blush. Brendon was willing to do whatever it took to get tased.

Fuck, did that kid have a pain kink, he thought.

With Brendon’s eyes closed, Dallon presses the taser to Brendon’s ribs. Instantly, Brendon pulls his lips from Dallon’s fingers with a crisp, clean pop. He stares up at Dallon, eyes flickering in anticipation.

Without breaking eye contact, Dallon pulls the trigger.

One stun is all Brendon needed to push him over the edge.

Dallon watches as Brendon squirms on the couch, limbs pressing into every surface he can as he rides out his orgasm. Cries rock his body, leaving him shaking and muttering and moaning wordlessly, syllables forming only as he comes down. Quite literally, the shock leaves him speechless.

“Jesus Christ,” Dallon mutters, oscillating his gaze from the black device in his hand to his exhausted, post-orgasm-limp boyfriend.

He could have a lot of fun with this.


End file.
